His Face Was Still The Same
by yubitsume
Summary: In a nutshell, Germany goes insane after Italy is killed by France and seeks revenge. Lots of Dark!Germany and feel free to critique. Enjoy!


Prussia knew how ruthless his brother could be if driven to it. He also certainly knew that the insane France's declaration of war, and how he chose to show it, would cause Germany's inner monster to come out.

The look on the blued eyed man when he saw one of his best friends, Italy, hanging dead and bloodied by France's hand. Everything inside of him must have snapped.

He had carried Italy for what seemed like miles, desperatley seeking help. Looking paler than usaual, the german had spoken to his dead friend, "You'll be okay...You'll be okay...You'll be okay..." That seemed to be the only vocabulary the man had possessed at the time. Now, as the two approached the defeated France, it seemed that Germany did not possess anything at all. No emotion, no words, no rationality. Prussia had lost his brother once more.

"Think carefully, brother." The older of the two warned. The younger did not respond, as if Prussia was not even there. To Germany, the only two in the world right now, were him, and his prey.

The blonde man took several long, yet controlled strides across the graveyard of a battlefield, past his and his enemie's dead soldiers. He did not care though. His face held a strange expression. Not pain, or malice, but something close to curiosity or amusement, wondering what would happen if he broke his enemie's fragile neck.

They stopped infront of a rundown, bullet whole ridden, shack. Germany attempted to open the door, but it would not budge. Something was blocking it.

"West..." Prussia tried to negotiate with his brother only to be interupted by the sound of wood breaking. After several strong kicks, Germany had nearly ripped the door from its henges. The upper half of the frame fell to the ground, giving them an entry way. His face was still the same.

" Stay back!" A frightened, desperate voice called from the corner of the hut. It was France. He had at least three bullet wounds in his lower torso, and could barley keep hold of the rifle in his shaking hands. A chill went up Prussia's spine when he saw what had kept the door in place.

Bodies.

Tons of them, all stacked up as some sort of make shift barricade. He became even more sickened when he realised that they could have not all fallen there. Someone had to have put them there deliberatley. "I said stay back, dammit!" A gunshot followed the frenchmans strong voice. He had been aiming for Germany, but had missed horribly. Realizing that he was out of bullets, France anxiously tried to reload. Unfortunatley for him, Germany was faster. In one swift motion, France was lifted off the ground by his neck, and forced to stare into the german's eyes. He wouldn't have called them lifeless, rather than being full of cold fire. A determination to kill.

The rifle made a loud clack as it hit the bloody floor. It felt as though that simple motion had taken an eternity or longer. They both just stared at eachother. Despite the desire to, Prussia, nor did any of the live soldiers interfere with them in any way. Was Germany having second thoughts? Prussia contemplated this for several seconds. Surely his brother, the workaholic, responsible, reasonable man that he was would not kill a fellow nation for something as bitter as revenge. That specific domain belonged to the older of the two, not rational Germany. Slowly, the blue eyed german began to lower the squiring frenchman. The relief that washed over Germany's brother's face came all too quickley.

Prussia was wrong. He acknowledged this when the sight finally met his brain. France's head crashed against the damaged, yet sturdy table behind him. This happened repeatively for as the german released his rage. He used brute strength to break france's skull.

" WEST, NO!" The albino came foward, nearly crashing into his brother, desperate to stop his crime. Despite Prussia's efforts, Germany was too strong, being the larger of the two, and continued to bash France's head in.

one, two, three, four,... fourteen, fifteen,...,twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. Twenty three. Thats how many times it took until France fell dead.

He had done it. He had really killed a nation, therefor killed millions of people. Twenty-three. Thats all it took. twenty three bashes to the head killed so many.

Germany just stood there with the same expression, as if he was a child, testing to see what would happen if he hit a bird with a rock. His brother stared in shock. "West..." He took a step foward, cautious of the nation. Then something small, yet significant happened. Germany's brow twitched. Just slightly, but that was enough. His eyes turned from something inhuman, to humanly shocked. Just for that small was all that it took for Germany to become self aware.

And that was all it took for the lone surviving french soldier to shoot him, before dying.

The bullet penetrated Germany's heart and he collapsed into his brother's arms."...W-w-west..." Steaming tears fell down the Prussian's face. When the man's brother's eyes finally did go lifeless, he threw his head back and screamed out of agony and disbelief. All those years, the person he knew and loved dearly, his best companion and brother...gone.

His face was still the same.


End file.
